


Anchorage

by Ael_tRlailiiu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael_tRlailiiu/pseuds/Ael_tRlailiiu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweet, fluffy, Captain Swan sex, set at a nebulous point early in S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchorage

Emma couldn't feel her feet, and the lights were out. She took the stairs one at a time. Killian seemed to be doing the same. They stopped for a breather on the landing, and she didn't think it was for her sake.

She looked at the last flight of stairs and said, “That was what we call a stone bitch of a day.”

“Something to do with Medusa?”

“Don't know where it came from. You can look it up.” Occasionally she had to remind herself that they were literally from different worlds. He was a fast learner, though. “You sure you don't want to get those ribs checked? We could still swing by the hospital. Power's on there.”

“Only bruised, not broken,” he said. “Believe me, I am well acquainted with the difference.” They dragged themselves the last few steps to the door.

“It's your funeral.”

“Not today, I think.” Killian shot her an amused look as he turned the key. “Good night?”

“Night.” She meant the kiss to be quick. It wasn't. Antidote to the cold that blanketed the town, or just that she was not yet used to kissing him? However long it lasted, she always wanted more. Cold feet, damp clothes, all of her worries and exhaustion could not compete with his mouth fitted to hers. He invited; she insisted. He touched her hair, cradled the back of her neck in his hand. She felt his rings as three distinct points of cold against her skin. That didn't matter. There was that steady strength that had been beside her for so long now, telling her she could let go, just for a while.

“On second thought, I don't know if I can walk the rest of the way to the apartment without falling on my face. Or something else.” She placed her hand on his chest, felt him take one quick breath.

“That so.” His voice dropped to a murmur.

“Probably fall into a snowbank. Get frostbite.” In the dark, wrapped in the scent of wet leather and Granny's potpourri, Emma decided to stop making things complicated when they didn't have to be.

“Best not to risk it, then. Not that I'm one to complain—”

“I didn't think you would.”

“—But this sudden enthusiasm...?”

“I just....” She shrugged. “It's true. There's never going to be a day when at least one of us isn't bruised or tired or worried about something, or... something. So I guess it's down to making the most of the hours. Whenever they show up. Of which this looks like it might be one.” She wanted this. “I mean, as long as you're not _too_ bruised.”

“Never.” Killian pushed the door open and stepped back through it. His arm around her waist drew her with him, roused a memory of music. One of these days there might be time for that, too. Emma kicked the door shut and took off her gloves.

“My hands are cold,” she warned.

“I think we can fix that.” He didn't wince when she laced her fingers behind his neck. “Better?”

“Getting there.” She rubbed her thumbs down the sides of his neck. “Your hair's wet.”

“Mhm.” They fell into another kiss, not so slow this time.

Emma liked the sheltering feeling of his collar against the backs of her hands, but the room's comparative warmth made itself felt. She shrugged out of her own coat without losing contact with his lips, fumbled an attempt to hang it off the doorknob behind her, and let it drop to the floor. With the streetlights out, the room was nearly pitch dark.

Killian drew back. “Half a moment.” She heard the click of the hook disengaging. “Tends to snag on things.”

“Don't want that.” She moved a blind half-step forward. “Ow.”

“Sorry. Perhaps there's a candle to be found in this place?”

“There were some in the bathroom in my room, when I stayed here.” She had never lost the habit of cataloging portable amenities in hotel rooms. “I'll check.” She felt her way along the wall and through the drawers until she came up with a box of utility candles and an old-fashioned tin holder. She lit one and emerged to find that Killian had hung up his coat and hers on the corner stand. “Seriously? You're a bigger neat freak than even my mother.”

“Perhaps it will improve her opinion of me.”

“Not good form?” She set the candle on the bedside table and went to him.

“Bit more than that. In a storm or a fight, whatever you need had damn well better be where it's supposed to be. Now then, that's far better.” He touched her chin. “It escapes me why there aren't a dozen artists queued up to do you honor.”

“That may be the most ridiculous thing you have ever said. And it's up against some stiff competition.” She couldn't stop a smile, though.

“Someday you'll admit that I'm right.”

“Keep waiting.”

“It's worked so far.” The hint of an answering smile left him, replaced by that searching, uncertain look, without artifice or defense.

“It has.” She stepped in close. Her heart thumped harder as she cupped his face in her hands, ran her thumb over the scar on his cheek. She pressed her mouth against his like the answer to a question neither of them dared ask aloud, and pulled him with her toward the bed. Nothing about her felt cold any longer. Some other time for careful undressing, and for learning a spell to do away with boots. “Jesus,” Emma muttered when he undid her bra's front clasp with his mouth, and then couldn't stop a chuckle.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I bet you can tie all kinds of knots in a cherry stem.” She sat up and slipped the straps down over her shoulders. That left both of them half-undressed.

“Knots did not actually figure into my plans, but if you insist.”

“Skip it. I'll explain later. For now....” She leaned forward and toyed with his necklace, lifted the chain over his head and set it aside. She met his amused look with an arch one. “About those plans?”

“Plenty of time.” Killian shifted farther down the bed next to her. Emma bit her lip and settled back again, following the gentle pressure of his hand on her stomach. He kissed just below her navel and started working up from there.

“You say that now. Wait until the next emergency pops up in five minutes.” She felt his laugh against her skin between kisses and shivered. The candlelight brought out a reddish highlight in his beard she had never noticed before. The puckered line of a scar on his right shoulder ran through a scatter of freckles. He stroked her thighs with lazy sweeps, only occasionally venturing high enough to make her breath hitch with anticipation. It occurred to Emma that the button fly on her pants might present a problem that could not be solved with teeth—though it might be fun for him to try. His mouth reached her breast at the exact moment he pressed the heel of his hand to her crotch.

She forgot about the buttons. She forgot about breathing. Cherry stems skittered across her thoughts. She reached for anchorage, locked one hand into the blankets beside her and the other in his hair. Killian made a little humming sound that might have been an interrogative.

“Good,” she said, or close enough to be understood as encouragement. She arched against his touch and pulled his head closer and oh, _god_ what was his tongue even doing. She relaxed into the steady pull of wanting for as long as she could bear it. Breathing hard, Emma forced her hands to unclench, moved _his_ hand out of the way, and went to work on those buttons. “I'd better not be the only one naked in this bed by the time I'm done.”

Killian grinned—that utterly stupid, lazy grin that had set her heart pounding almost from the moment they met. "Some other time I might test the consequences.” He gave her nipple a parting lick and dragged a slow finger along the seam of her pants.

She felt surprised those hadn't soaked right through yet. _Other_ time? Oh, hell, what was she doing. Should they have talked about this first? Did people do things differently in the Enchanted Forest? How many years were left on her IUD? She shed what was left of her clothes in a hurry, but didn't beat him by much. That only left the leather sheath and strapwork that anchored the hook. He unfastened it without so much as a pause she could discern. Nothing but skin and heat, and nothing gentle in the kisses now, only craving. To finally know all of him, warm and solid and flushed with desire. To feel his his touch now answering hers, now leading, learning her as if he intended to draw her from memory.

She ended up half on top of him, panting into the hollow of his throat as his fingers moved inside her. Killian's lower lip was caught between his teeth. Emma made a protesting sound as he withdrew his hand. She lifted her head to find those ridiculous eyes fixed on her. She leaned in and kissed him, felt his touch on the small of her back, then her hip, urging her to move. She shifted without losing the kiss, swung her leg the rest of the way over him and bit down on his lip. He inhaled. She tongued the place she had bitten and felt him jerk under her. She moved her hips, slicked his shaft with her own wetness. Close, she felt too close already.

“Bloody hell Swan, are you trying to—”

“ _You_ said no rush.” She wet her lips and let her hands rove up his arms, down his chest to the place where that thicket of dark hair narrowed and then spread out again, every muscle underneath her taut with wanting.

“I take it back.” He moved to sit up.

“Wait. Here.” She moved off him again and tugged his arm until he turned, facing her, her leg still draped over his hip. “How about this.”

“Whatever you like.”

“I think....” She half-closed her eyes and gave him a few strokes of her hand before she guided him into her. “Oh shit. Oh....” She gave up on speech and pulled him tighter to her. Wound up as she already was from his touch, his mouth, she couldn't hold off entirely, twitched and tightened around him. The need they had ignored and denied and talked around for months crashed over her and left nothing but the curve and flex of him, his steadying hand spread across her ass, the heat within her and around her.

His mouth captured hers, freed her again because neither of them could get enough air however they changed position. She liked him on top of her. Like strands in a rope, a few threads of the tension inside of her snapped, little firecrackers of pleasure. She moaned and tried to take him deeper, hitched her hips higher. He shifted his weight back, changed the angle of his thrusts. She couldn't speak for a moment, but Killian seemed to get the idea from her frantic response that that was good. He stepped up the pace.

She gave a panting cry as the first shock went through her. “Goddammit, I can't... oh.” Another one. “Oh, son of a bitch. Don't stop.”

Killian sort of laughed and might have said something; only one of her senses was working. Every wave crested higher while she muffled her screams against his shoulder. The last ebbing left her wrung out and gasping. He slowed down. An after-tremor brought a stifled moan from her. She heard his breathing change as he gave in to his own need. She steadied herself, clenched down around him and held as long as she could. He made a desperate little sound not unlike her own and shuddered. She kept moving against him until he stopped, until he dropped his head down to kiss her, soft and brief as if for the first time.

Her breathing slowed. The languid aftermath of pleasure pulled her eyelids down, left her limbs heavy. Neither of them said anything. After a few minutes, Killian moved as if to shift himself off of her; she let him do so with reluctance and felt the air as cold again.

Did that just happen? That happened. A butterfly of fear hatched in her stomach. She turned her head and blinked at the candle. It went out, which was not entirely intentional on her part.

“What's wrong?”

She almost said _nothing_ , but he deserved better than that. “Just... hang on.” She managed to relight the candle without setting anything else on fire, not that the time to think helped her much. Nothing, nothing, just that this was normally the part where she would put her clothes back on and leave the wrong phone number on the nightstand. She didn't want to do that, but she also didn't know how this was supposed to go, now.

Emma brushed hair out of her face and turned so she was facing him properly. “Okay first of all, that was... kind of spectacular. And there's nothing wrong, really.” She took a deep breath. “Just I'm... not very good at this kind of thing, and you're....”

“I'm what?” He bit off the T with wary precision.

“Steady?” She wasn't quite sure it was the right word. “You've been a goddamn rock this whole time, while I've been... dealing with things.” It felt like years since that day in New York. “Or an anchor, I know you're going to say. I don't know. I appreciate that. But I'm not good at that, or at any of this. I'm not really an easy person, a lot of the time. I know.” She touched his shoulder, turned it into a caress and felt him relax. “I guess I hope someday I can give you something, too.”

“And you accuse me of talking nonsense? You have already given me gifts beyond measure.”

The butterfly quieted down. She smiled and settled back, looked for a pillow, realized that it was somewhere on the far side of the room, and used his arm instead. A pleasant quiet descended. She ought to go clean up. She didn't want to move. Apparently, he did.

“What are you writing,” she asked, “and why are you writing it on _me?_ ”

“An alphabet.”

“Okay....” Emma propped herself up on her elbows and watched him trace letters on her thighs with his fingertip.

“Just a bit of amusement. Adoring. Besotted.” Killian paused to think. “Concupiscient?” He laid a kiss on her breast.

“Ah... hello. How do you spell that?”

He wrote the word out across her stomach while she tried not to laugh.

“Good thing I am not ticklish, and I am _never_ playing Scrabble with you.”

“Devastated. Chess?” He sounded hopeful.

“Try David. Bet I can kick your ass at ping-pong, though.”

“Enraptured. I look forward to it.”

She hesitated. “Do you want me to stay? I'm not used to sleeping with anyone else in the bed. I might snore. Or kick you. I don't know. It's been kind of a while.”

“I'm willing to take the chance if you are.”

Oh, God. She breathed past the sudden tightness in her throat. “Okay.” She looked up to see him looking at her, his hand suddenly still, careful as if he feared she might fly away after all.

“You know, it gets better.”

“What?”

“With practice. When people are together.”

“Oh.” Emma bit her lip and glanced down, then smiled at him. “I guess we'll find out.”


End file.
